POPE'S PREFACE TO THE
ILIAD OF HOMER
Homer is universally
allowed to have had the
greatest invention of
any
writer whatever. The
praise of judgment
Virgil has justly
contested with
him, and others may have
their pretensions as to
particular excellences;
but his invention
remains yet unrivalled.
Nor is it a wonder if he
has
ever been acknowledged
the greatest of poets,
who most excelled in
that
which is the very
foundation of poetry. It
is the invention that,
in
different degrees,
distinguishes all great
geniuses: the utmost
stretch of
human study, learning,
and industry, which
masters everything
besides, can
never attain to this. It
furnishes art with all
her materials, and
without
it judgment itself can
at best but "steal
wisely:" for art is only
like a
prudent steward that
lives on managing the
riches of nature.
Whatever
praises may be given to
works of judgment, there
is not even a single
beauty in them to which
the invention must not
contribute: as in the
most
regular gardens, art can
only reduce beauties of
nature to more
regularity, and such a
figure, which the common
eye may better take in,
and is, therefore, more
entertained with. And,
perhaps, the reason why
common critics are
inclined to prefer a
judicious and methodical
genius to
a great and fruitful
one, is, because they
find it easier for
themselves
to pursue their
observations through a
uniform and bounded walk
of art,
than to comprehend the
vast and various extent
of nature.
Our author's work is a
wild paradise, where, if
we cannot see all the
beauties so distinctly
as in an ordered garden,
it is only because the
number of them is
infinitely greater. It
is like a copious
nursery, which
contains the seeds and
first productions of
every kind, out of which
those
who followed him have
but selected some
particular plants, each
according
to his fancy, to
cultivate and beautify.
If some things are too
luxuriant
it is owing to the
richness of the soil;
and if others are not
arrived to
perfection or maturity,
it is only because they
are overrun and
oppressed
by those of a stronger
nature.
It is to the strength of
this amazing invention
we are to attribute that
unequalled fire and
rapture which is so
forcible in Homer, that
no man of
a true poetical spirit
is master of himself
while he reads him. What
he
writes is of the most
animated nature
imaginable; every thing
moves, every
thing lives, and is put
in action. If a council
be called, or a battle
fought, you are not
coldly informed of what
was said or done as from
a
third person; the reader
is hurried out of
himself by the force of
the
poet's imagination, and
turns in one place to a
hearer, in another to a
spectator. The course of
his verses resembles
that of the army he
describes,
Hoid' ar' isan hosei te
puri chthon pasa
nemoito.
"They pour along like a
fire that sweeps the
whole earth before it."
It
is, however, remarkable,
that his fancy, which is
everywhere vigorous, is
not discovered
immediately at the
beginning of his poem in
its fullest
splendour: it grows in
the progress both upon
himself and others, and
becomes on fire, like a
chariot-wheel, by its
own rapidity. Exact
disposition, just
thought, correct
elocution, polished
numbers, may have
been found in a
thousand; but this
poetic fire, this
"vivida vis animi,"
in a very few. Even in
works where all those
are imperfect or
neglected,
this can overpower
criticism, and make us
admire even while we
disapprove.
Nay, where this appears,
though attended with
absurdities, it
brightens
all the rubbish about
it, till we see nothing
but its own splendour.
This
fire is discerned in
Virgil, but discerned as
through a glass,
reflected
from Homer, more shining
than fierce, but
everywhere equal and
constant:
in Lucan and Statius it
bursts out in sudden,
short, and interrupted
flashes: In Milton it
glows like a furnace
kept up to an uncommon
ardour
by the force of art: in
Shakspeare it strikes
before we are aware,
like an
accidental fire from
heaven: but in Homer,
and in him only, it
burns
everywhere clearly and
everywhere irresistibly.
I shall here endeavour
to show how this vast
invention exerts itself
in a
manner superior to that
of any poet through all
the main constituent
parts
of his work: as it is
the great and peculiar
characteristic which
distinguishes
him from all other
authors.
This strong and ruling
faculty was like a
powerful star, which, in
the
violence of its course,
drew all things within
its vortex. It seemed
not
enough to have taken in
the whole circle of
arts, and the whole
compass of
nature, to supply his
maxims and reflections;
all the inward passions
and
affections of mankind,
to furnish his
characters: and all the
outward
forms and images of
things for his
descriptions: but
wanting yet an ampler
sphere to expatiate in,
he opened a new and
boundless walk for his
imagination, and created
a world for himself in
the invention of fable.
That which Aristotle
calls "the soul of
poetry," was first
breathed into
it by Homer, I shall
begin with considering
him in his part, as it
is
naturally the first; and
I speak of it both as it
means the design of a
poem, and as it is taken
for fiction.
Fable may be divided
into the probable, the
allegorical, and the
marvellous. The probable
fable is the recital of
such actions as, though
they did not happen, yet
might, in the common
course of nature; or of
such
as, though they did,
became fables by the
additional episodes and
manner
of telling them. Of this
sort is the main story
of an epic poem, "The
return of Ulysses, the
settlement of the
Trojans in Italy," or
the like.
That of the Iliad is the
"anger of Achilles," the
most short and single
subject that ever was
chosen by any poet. Yet
this he has supplied
with a
vaster variety of
incidents and events,
and crowded with a
greater number
of councils, speeches,
battles, and episodes of
all kinds, than are to
be
found even in those
poems whose schemes are
of the utmost latitude
and
irregularity. The action
is hurried on with the
most vehement spirit,
and
its whole duration
employs not so much as
fifty days. Virgil, for
want of
so warm a genius, aided
himself by taking in a
more extensive subject,
as
well as a greater length
of time, and contracting
the design of both
Homer's poems into one,
which is yet but a
fourth part as large as
his.
The other epic poets
have used the same
practice, but generally
carried it
so far as to superinduce
a multiplicity of
fables, destroy the
unity of
action, and lose their
readers in an
unreasonable length of
time. Nor is
it only in the main
design that they have
been unable to add to
his
invention, but they have
followed him in every
episode and part of
story.
If he has given a
regular catalogue of an
army, they all draw up
their
forces in the same
order. If he has funeral
games for Patroclus,
Virgil
has the same for
Anchises, and Statius
(rather than omit them)
destroys
the unity of his actions
for those of Archemorus.
If Ulysses visit the
shades, the Æneas of
Virgil and Scipio of
Silius are sent after
him. If he
be detained from his
return by the
allurements of Calypso,
so is Æneas by
Dido, and Rinaldo by
Armida. If Achilles be
absent from the army on
the
score of a quarrel
through half the poem,
Rinaldo must absent
himself just
as long on the like
account. If he gives his
hero a suit of celestial
armour, Virgil and Tasso
make the same present to
theirs. Virgil has not
only observed this close
imitation of Homer, but,
where he had not led the
way, supplied the want
from other Greek
authors. Thus the story
of Sinon,
and the taking of Troy,
was copied (says
Macrobius) almost word
for word
from Pisander, as the
loves of Dido and Æneas
are taken from those of
Medea and Jason in
Apollonius, and several
others in the same
manner.
To proceed to the
allegorical fable--If we
reflect upon those
innumerable
knowledges, those
secrets of nature and
physical philosophy
which Homer is
generally supposed to
have wrapped up in his
allegories, what a new
and
ample scene of wonder
may this consideration
afford us! How fertile
will
that imagination appear,
which as able to clothe
all the properties of
elements, the
qualifications of the
mind, the virtues and
vices, in forms
and persons, and to
introduce them into
actions agreeable to the
nature of
the things they
shadowed! This is a
field in which no
succeeding poets
could dispute with
Homer, and whatever
commendations have been
allowed
them on this head, are
by no means for their
invention in having
enlarged
his circle, but for
their judgment in having
contracted it. For when
the
mode of learning changed
in the following ages,
and science was
delivered
in a plainer manner, it
then became as
reasonable in the more
modern poets
to lay it aside, as it
was in Homer to make use
of it. And perhaps it
was
no unhappy circumstance
for Virgil, that there
was not in his time that
demand upon him of so
great an invention as
might be capable of
furnishing
all those allegorical
parts of a poem.
The marvellous fable
includes whatever is
supernatural, and
especially the
machines of the gods. If
Homer was not the first
who introduced the
deities (as Herodotus
imagines) into the
religion of Greece, he
seems the
first who brought them
into a system of
machinery for poetry,
and such a
one as makes its
greatest importance and
dignity: for we find
those
authors who have been
offended at the literal
notion of the gods,
constantly laying their
accusation against Homer
as the chief support of
it. But whatever cause
there might be to blame
his machines in a
philosophical or
religious view, they are
so perfect in the
poetic, that
mankind have been ever
since contented to
follow them: none have
been able
to enlarge the sphere of
poetry beyond the limits
he has set: every
attempt of this nature
has proved unsuccessful;
and after all the
various
changes of times and
religions, his gods
continue to this day the
gods of
poetry.
We come now to the
characters of his
persons; and here we
shall find no
author has ever drawn so
many, with so visible
and surprising a
variety,
or given us such lively
and affecting
impressions of them.
Every one has
something so singularly
his own, that no painter
could have distinguished
them more by their
features, than the poet
has by their manners.
Nothing
can be more exact than
the distinctions he has
observed in the
different
degrees of virtues and
vices. The single
quality of courage is
wonderfully
diversified in the
several characters of
the Iliad. That of
Achilles is
furious and intractable;
that of Diomede forward,
yet listening to advice,
and subject to command;
that of Ajax is heavy
and self-confiding; of
Hector, active and
vigilant: the courage of
Agamemnon is inspirited
by
love of empire and
ambition; that of
Menelaus mixed with
softness and
tenderness for his
people: we find in
Idomeneus a plain direct
soldier; in
Sarpedon a gallant and
generous one. Nor is
this judicious and
astonishing
diversity to be found
only in the principal
quality which
constitutes the
main of each character,
but even in the under
parts of it, to which he
takes care to give a
tincture of that
principal one. For
example: the main
characters of Ulysses
and Nestor consist in
wisdom; and they are
distinct
in this, that the wisdom
of one is artificial and
various, of the other
natural, open, and
regular. But they have,
besides, characters of
courage;
and this quality also
takes a different turn
in each from the
difference
of his prudence; for one
in the war depends still
upon caution, the other
upon experience. It
would be endless to
produce instances of
these kinds.
The characters of Virgil
are far from striking us
in this open manner;
they lie, in a great
degree, hidden and
undistinguished; and,
where they
are marked most
evidently affect us not
in proportion to those
of Homer.
His characters of valour
are much alike; even
that of Turnus seems no
way
peculiar, but, as it is,
in a superior degree;
and we see nothing that
differences the courage
of Mnestheus from that
of Sergestus, Cloanthus,
or
the rest, In like manner
it may be remarked of
Statius's heroes, that
an
air of impetuosity runs
through them all; the
same horrid and savage
courage appears in his
Capaneus, Tydeus,
Hippomedon, &c. They
have a
parity of character,
which makes them seem
brothers of one family.
I
believe when the reader
is led into this tract
of reflection, if he
will
pursue it through the
epic and tragic writers,
he will be convinced how
infinitely superior, in
this point, the
invention of Homer was
to that of
all others.
The speeches are to be
considered as they flow
from the characters;
being
perfect or defective as
they agree or disagree
with the manners, of
those
who utter them. As there
is more variety of
characters in the Iliad,
so
there is of speeches,
than in any other poem.
"Everything in it has
manner" (as Aristotle
expresses it), that is,
everything is acted or
spoken. It is hardly
credible, in a work of
such length, how small a
number of lines are
employed in narration.
In Virgil the dramatic
part is
less in proportion to
the narrative, and the
speeches often consist
of
general reflections or
thoughts, which might be
equally just in any
person's mouth upon the
same occasion. As many
of his persons have no
apparent characters, so
many of his speeches
escape being applied and
judged by the rule of
propriety. We oftener
think of the author
himself
when we read Virgil,
than when we are engaged
in Homer, all which are
the
effects of a colder
invention, that
interests us less in the
action
described. Homer makes
us hearers, and Virgil
leaves us readers.
If, in the next place,
we take a view of the
sentiments, the same
presiding faculty is
eminent in the sublimity
and spirit of his
thoughts.
Longinus has given his
opinion, that it was in
this part Homer
principally
excelled. What were
alone sufficient to
prove the grandeur and
excellence
of his sentiments in
general, is, that they
have so remarkable a
parity
with those of the
Scripture. Duport, in
his Gnomologia Homerica,
has
collected innumerable
instances of this sort.
And it is with justice
an
excellent modern writer
allows, that if Virgil
has not so many thoughts
that are low and vulgar,
he has not so many that
are sublime and noble;
and that the Roman
author seldom rises into
very astonishing
sentiments
where he is not fired by
the Iliad.
If we observe his
descriptions, images,
and similes, we shall
find the
invention still
predominant. To what
else can we ascribe that
vast
comprehension of images
of every sort, where we
see each circumstance of
art, and individual of
nature, summoned
together by the extent
and
fecundity of his
imagination to which all
things, in their various
views
presented themselves in
an instant, and had
their impressions taken
off to
perfection at a heat?
Nay, he not only gives
us the full prospects of
things, but several
unexpected peculiarities
and side views,
unobserved by
any painter but Homer.
Nothing is so surprising
as the descriptions of
his
battles, which take up
no less than half the
Iliad, and are supplied
with
so vast a variety of
incidents, that no one
bears a likeness to
another;
such different kinds of
deaths, that no two
heroes are wounded in
the same
manner, and such a
profusion of noble
ideas, that every battle
rises above
the last in greatness,
horror, and confusion.
It is certain there is
not
near that number of
images and descriptions
in any epic poet, though
every
one has assisted himself
with a great quantity
out of him; and it is
evident of Virgil
especially, that he has
scarce any comparisons
which are
not drawn from his
master.
If we descend from hence
to the expression, we
see the bright
imagination
of Homer shining out in
the most enlivened forms
of it. We acknowledge
him
the father of poetical
diction; the first who
taught that "language of
the
gods" to men. His
expression is like the
colouring of some great
masters,
which discovers itself
to be laid on boldly,
and executed with
rapidity.
It is, indeed, the
strongest and most
glowing imaginable, and
touched with
the greatest spirit.
Aristotle had reason to
say, he was the only
poet who
had found out "living
words;" there are in him
more daring figures and
metaphors than in any
good author whatever. An
arrow is "impatient" to
be
on the wing, a weapon
"thirsts" to drink the
blood of an enemy, and
the
like, yet his expression
is never too big for the
sense, but justly great
in proportion to it. It
is the sentiment that
swells and fills out the
diction, which rises
with it, and forms
itself about it, for in
the same
degree that a thought is
warmer, an expression
will be brighter, as
that
is more strong, this
will become more
perspicuous; like glass
in the
furnace, which grows to
a greater magnitude, and
refines to a greater
clearness, only as the
breath within is more
powerful, and the heat
more
intense.
To throw his language
more out of prose, Homer
seems to have affected
the
compound epithets. This
was a sort of
composition peculiarly
proper to
poetry, not only as it
heightened the diction,
but as it assisted and
filled the numbers with
greater sound and pomp,
and likewise conduced in
some measure to thicken
the images. On this last
consideration I cannot
but attribute these also
to the fruitfulness of
his invention, since (as
he has managed them)
they are a sort of
supernumerary pictures
of the
persons or things to
which they were joined.
We see the motion of
Hector's
plumes in the epithet
Korythaiolos, the
landscape of Mount
Neritus in that
of Einosiphyllos, and so
of others, which
particular images could
not have
been insisted upon so
long as to express them
in a description (though
but
of a single line)
without diverting the
reader too much from the
principal
action or figure. As a
metaphor is a short
simile, one of these
epithets
is a short description.
Lastly, if we consider
his versification, we
shall be sensible what a
share of praise is due
to his invention in that
also. He was not
satisfied
with his language as he
found it settled in any
one part of Greece, but
searched through its
different dialects with
this particular view, to
beautify and perfect his
numbers he considered
these as they had a
greater
mixture of vowels or
consonants, and
accordingly employed
them as the
verse required either a
greater smoothness or
strength. What he most
affected was the Ionic,
which has a peculiar
sweetness, from its
never
using contractions, and
from its custom of
resolving the diphthongs
into
two syllables, so as to
make the words open
themselves with a more
spreading and sonorous
fluency. With this he
mingled the Attic
contractions, the
broader Doric, and the
feebler Æolic, which
often
rejects its aspirate, or
takes off its accent,
and completed this
variety
by altering some letters
with the licence of
poetry. Thus his
measures,
instead of being fetters
to his sense, were
always in readiness to
run
along with the warmth of
his rapture, and even to
give a further
representation of his
notions, in the
correspondence of their
sounds to
what they signified. Out
of all these he has
derived that harmony
which
makes us confess he had
not only the richest
head, but the finest ear
in
the world. This is so
great a truth, that
whoever will but consult
the
tune of his verses, even
without understanding
them (with the same sort
of
diligence as we daily
see practised in the
case of Italian operas),
will
find more sweetness,
variety, and majesty of
sound, than in any other
language of poetry. The
beauty of his numbers is
allowed by the critics
to
be copied but faintly by
Virgil himself, though
they are so just as to
ascribe it to the nature
of the Latin tongue:
indeed the Greek has
some
advantages both from the
natural sound of its
words, and the turn and
cadence of its verse,
which agree with the
genius of no other
language.
Virgil was very sensible
of this, and used the
utmost diligence in
working
up a more intractable
language to whatsoever
graces it was capable
of,
and, in particular,
never failed to bring
the sound of his line to
a
beautiful agreement with
its sense. If the
Grecian poet has not
been so
frequently celebrated on
this account as the
Roman, the only reason
is,
that fewer critics have
understood one language
than the other.
Dionysius
of Halicarnassus has
pointed out many of our
author's beauties in
this
kind, in his treatise of
the Composition of
Words. It suffices at
present
to observe of his
numbers, that they flow
with so much ease, as to
make
one imagine Homer had no
other care than to
transcribe as fast as
the
Muses dictated, and, at
the same time, with so
much force and
inspiriting
vigour, that they awaken
and raise us like the
sound of a trumpet. They
roll along as a
plentiful river, always
in motion, and always
full; while
we are borne away by a
tide of verse, the most
rapid, and yet the most
smooth imaginable.
Thus on whatever side we
contemplate Homer, what
principally strikes us
is
his invention. It is
that which forms the
character of each part
of his
work; and accordingly we
find it to have made his
fable more extensive and
copious than any other,
his manners more lively
and strongly marked, his
speeches more affecting
and transported, his
sentiments more warm and
sublime, his images and
descriptions more full
and animated, his
expression more raised
and daring, and his
numbers more rapid and
various.
I hope, in what has been
said of Virgil, with
regard to any of these
heads, I have no way
derogated from his
character. Nothing is
more absurd
or endless, than the
common method of
comparing eminent
writers by an
opposition of particular
passages in them, and
forming a judgment from
thence of their merit
upon the whole. We ought
to have a certain
knowledge
of the principal
character and
distinguishing
excellence of each: it
is in
that we are to consider
him, and in proportion
to his degree in that we
are to admire him. No
author or man ever
excelled all the world
in more
than one faculty; and as
Homer has done this in
invention, Virgil has in
judgment. Not that we
are to think that Homer
wanted judgment, because
Virgil had it in a more
eminent degree; or that
Virgil wanted invention,
because Homer possessed
a larger share of it;
each of these great
authors
had more of both than
perhaps any man besides,
and are only said to
have
less in comparison with
one another. Homer was
the greater genius,
Virgil
the better artist. In
one we most admire the
man, in the other the
work.
Homer hurries and
transports us with a
commanding impetuosity;
Virgil
leads us with an
attractive majesty;
Homer scatters with a
generous
profusion; Virgil
bestows with a careful
magnificence; Homer,
like the
Nile, pours out his
riches with a boundless
overflow; Virgil, like a
river
in its banks, with a
gentle and constant
stream. When we behold
their
battles, methinks the
two poets resemble the
heroes they celebrate.
Homer,
boundless and resistless
as Achilles, bears all
before him, and shines
more and more as the
tumult increases;
Virgil, calmly daring,
like Æneas,
appears undisturbed in
the midst of the action;
disposes all about him,
and conquers with
tranquillity. And when
we look upon their
machines,
Homer seems like his own
Jupiter in his terrors,
shaking Olympus,
scattering the
lightnings, and firing
the heavens: Virgil,
like the same
power in his
benevolence, counselling
with the gods, laying
plans for
empires, and regularly
ordering his whole
creation.
But after all, it is
with great parts, as
with great virtues, they
naturally border
on some imperfection;
and it is often hard to
distinguish exactly
where the virtue ends,
or the fault begins. As
prudence may sometimes
sink to suspicion, so
may a great judgment
decline to coldness; and
as magnanimity may run
up to profusion or
extravagance, so may a
great invention to
redundancy or wildness.
If we look upon Homer in
this view, we shall
perceive the chief
objections against him
to proceed from so noble
a cause as the excess of
this faculty.
Among these we may
reckon some of his
marvellous fictions,
upon which so
much criticism has been
spent, as surpassing all
the bounds of
probability. Perhaps it
may be with great and
superior souls, as with
gigantic bodies, which,
exerting themselves with
unusual strength, exceed
what is commonly thought
the due proportion of
parts, to become
miracles
in the whole; and, like
the old heroes of that
make, commit something
near
extravagance, amidst a
series of glorious and
inimitable performances.
Thus Homer has his
"speaking horses;" and
Virgil his "myrtles
distilling
blood;" where the latter
has not so much as
contrived the easy
intervention of a deity
to save the probability.
It is owing to the same
vast invention, that his
similes have been
thought
too exuberant and full
of circumstances. The
force of this faculty is
seen
in nothing more, than in
its inability to confine
itself to that single
circumstance upon which
the comparison is
grounded: it runs out
into
embellishments of
additional images,
which, however, are so
managed as not
to overpower the main
one. His similes are
like pictures, where the
principal figure has not
only its proportion
given agreeable to the
original, but is also
set off with occasional
ornaments and prospects.
The
same will account for
his manner of heaping a
number of comparisons
together in one breath,
when his fancy suggested
to him at once so many
various and
correspondent images.
The reader will easily
extend this
observation to more
objections of the same
kind.
If there are others
which seem rather to
charge him with a defect
or
narrowness of genius,
than an excess of it,
those seeming defects
will be
found upon examination
to proceed wholly from
the nature of the times
he
lived in. Such are his
grosser representations
of the gods; and the
vicious and imperfect
manners of his heroes;
but I must here speak a
word
of the latter, as it is
a point generally
carried into extremes,
both by
the censurers and
defenders of Homer. It
must be a strange
partiality to
antiquity, to think with
Madame Dacier,(38)
"that those times and
manners
are so much the more
excellent, as they are
more contrary to ours."
Who
can be so prejudiced in
their favour as to
magnify the felicity of
those
ages, when a spirit of
revenge and cruelty,
joined with the practice
of
rapine and robbery,
reigned through the
world: when no mercy was
shown but
for the sake of lucre;
when the greatest
princes were put to the
sword,
and their wives and
daughters made slaves
and concubines? On the
other
side, I would not be so
delicate as those modern
critics, who are shocked
at the servile offices
and mean employments in
which we sometimes see
the
heroes of Homer engaged.
There is a pleasure in
taking a view of that
simplicity, in
opposition to the luxury
of succeeding ages: in
beholding
monarchs without their
guards; princes tending
their flocks, and
princesses drawing water
from the springs. When
we read Homer, we ought
to
reflect that we are
reading the most ancient
author in the heathen
world;
and those who consider
him in this light, will
double their pleasure in
the perusal of him. Let
them think they are
growing acquainted with
nations and people that
are now no more; that
they are stepping almost
three thousand years
back into the remotest
antiquity, and
entertaining
themselves with a clear
and surprising vision of
things nowhere else to
be
found, the only true
mirror of that ancient
world. By this means
alone
their greatest obstacles
will vanish; and what
usually creates their
dislike, will become a
satisfaction.
This consideration may
further serve to answer
for the constant use of
the
same epithets to his
gods and heroes; such as
the "far-darting
Phoebus,"
the "blue-eyed Pallas,"
the "swift-footed
Achilles," &c., which
some have
censured as impertinent,
and tediously repeated.
Those of the gods
depended upon the powers
and offices then
believed to belong to
them; and
had contracted a weight
and veneration from the
rites and solemn
devotions
in which they were used:
they were a sort of
attributes with which it
was
a matter of religion to
salute them on all
occasions, and which it
was an
irreverence to omit. As
for the epithets of
great men, Mons. Boileau
is of
opinion, that they were
in the nature of
surnames, and repeated
as such;
for the Greeks having no
names derived from their
fathers, were obliged to
add some other
distinction of each
person; either naming
his parents
expressly, or his place
of birth, profession, or
the like: as Alexander
the son of Philip,
Herodotus of
Halicarnassus, Diogenes
the Cynic, &c.
Homer, therefore,
complying with the
custom of his country,
used such
distinctive additions as
better agreed with
poetry. And, indeed, we
have
something parallel to
these in modern times,
such as the names of
Harold
Harefoot, Edmund
Ironside, Edward
Longshanks, Edward the
Black Prince, &c.
If yet this be thought
to account better for
the propriety than for
the
repetition, I shall add
a further conjecture.
Hesiod, dividing the
world
into its different ages,
has placed a fourth age,
between the brazen and
the iron one, of "heroes
distinct from other men;
a divine race who fought
at Thebes and Troy, are
called demi-gods, and
live by the care of
Jupiter
in the islands of the
blessed." Now among the
divine honours which
were
paid them, they might
have this also in common
with the gods, not to be
mentioned without the
solemnity of an epithet,
and such as might be
acceptable to them by
celebrating their
families, actions or
qualities.
What other cavils have
been raised against
Homer, are such as
hardly
deserve a reply, but
will yet be taken notice
of as they occur in the
course of the work. Many
have been occasioned by
an injudicious endeavour
to exalt Virgil; which
is much the same, as if
one should think to
raise
the superstructure by
undermining the
foundation: one would
imagine, by
the whole course of
their parallels, that
these critics never so
much as
heard of Homer's having
written first; a
consideration which
whoever
compares these two poets
ought to have always in
his eye. Some accuse him
for the same things
which they overlook or
praise in the other; as
when
they prefer the fable
and moral of the Æneis
to those of the Iliad,
for
the same reasons which
might set the Odyssey
above the Æneis; as that
the
hero is a wiser man, and
the action of the one
more beneficial to his
country than that of the
other; or else they
blame him for not doing
what
he never designed; as
because Achilles is not
as good and perfect a
prince
as Æneas, when the very
moral of his poem
required a contrary
character:
it is thus that Rapin
judges in his comparison
of Homer and Virgil.
Others
select those particular
passages of Homer which
are not so laboured as
some that Virgil drew
out of them: this is the
whole management of
Scaliger in his Poetics.
Others quarrel with what
they take for low and
mean expressions,
sometimes through a
false delicacy and
refinement,
oftener from an
ignorance of the graces
of the original, and
then triumph
in the awkwardness of
their own translations:
this is the conduct of
Perrault in his
Parallels. Lastly, there
are others, who,
pretending to a
fairer proceeding,
distinguish between the
personal merit of Homer,
and
that of his work; but
when they come to assign
the causes of the great
reputation of the Iliad,
they found it upon the
ignorance of his times,
and the prejudice of
those that followed: and
in pursuance of this
principle, they make
those accidents (such as
the contention of the
cities, &c.) to be the
causes of his fame,
which were in reality
the
consequences of his
merit. The same might as
well be said of Virgil,
or
any great author whose
general character will
infallibly raise many
casual
additions to their
reputation. This is the
method of Mons. de la
Mott; who
yet confesses upon the
whole that in whatever
age Homer had lived, he
must
have been the greatest
poet of his nation, and
that he may be said in
his
sense to be the master
even of those who
surpassed him.(39)
In all these objections
we see nothing that
contradicts his title to
the
honour of the chief
invention: and as long
as this (which is indeed
the
characteristic of poetry
itself) remains
unequalled by his
followers, he
still continues superior
to them. A cooler
judgment may commit
fewer
faults, and be more
approved in the eyes of
one sort of critics: but
that
warmth of fancy will
carry the loudest and
most universal applauses
which
holds the heart of a
reader under the
strongest enchantment.
Homer not
only appears the
inventor of poetry, but
excels all the inventors
of other
arts, in this, that he
has swallowed up the
honour of those who
succeeded
him. What he has done
admitted no increase, it
only left room for
contraction or
regulation. He showed
all the stretch of fancy
at once; and
if he has failed in some
of his flights, it was
but because he attempted
everything. A work of
this kind seems like a
mighty tree, which rises
from
the most vigorous seed,
is improved with
industry, flourishes,
and
produces the finest
fruit: nature and art
conspire to raise it;
pleasure
and profit join to make
it valuable: and they
who find the justest
faults,
have only said that a
few branches which run
luxuriant through a
richness
of nature, might be
lopped into form to give
it a more regular
appearance.
Having now spoken of the
beauties and defects of
the original, it remains
to treat of the
translation, with the
same view to the chief
characteristic.
As far as that is seen
in the main parts of the
poem, such as the fable,
manners,
and sentiments, no
translator can prejudice
it but by wilful
omissions or
contractions. As it also
breaks out in every
particular image,
description, and
simile, whoever lessens
or too much softens
those, takes off from
this chief character. It
is the first grand duty
of an interpreter to
give his author entire
and unmaimed; and for
the rest, the diction
and versification only
are his proper province,
since these must be his
own, but the others he
is to take as he finds
them.
It should then be
considered what methods
may afford some
equivalent in
our language for the
graces of these in the
Greek. It is certain no
literal translation can
be just to an excellent
original in a superior
language: but it is a
great mistake to imagine
(as many have done) that
a
rash paraphrase can make
amends for this general
defect; which is no less
in danger to lose the
spirit of an ancient, by
deviating into the
modern
manners of expression.
If there be sometimes a
darkness, there is often
a
light in antiquity,
which nothing better
preserves than a version
almost
literal. I know no
liberties one ought to
take, but those which
are
necessary to transfusing
the spirit of the
original, and supporting
the
poetical style of the
translation: and I will
venture to say, there
have
not been more men misled
in former times by a
servile, dull adherence
to
the letter, than have
been deluded in ours by
a chimerical, insolent
hope
of raising and improving
their author. It is not
to be doubted, that the
fire of the poem is what
a translator should
principally regard, as
it is
most likely to expire in
his managing: however,
it is his safest way to
be
content with preserving
this to his utmost in
the whole, without
endeavouring to be more
than he finds his author
is, in any particular
place. It is a great
secret in writing, to
know when to be plain,
and when
poetical and figurative;
and it is what Homer
will teach us, if we
will
but follow modestly in
his footsteps. Where his
diction is bold and
lofty,
let us raise ours as
high as we can; but
where his is plain and
humble, we
ought not to be deterred
from imitating him by
the fear of incurring
the
censure of a mere
English critic. Nothing
that belongs to Homer
seems to
have been more commonly
mistaken than the just
pitch of his style: some
of
his translators having
swelled into fustian in
a proud confidence of
the
sublime; others sunk
into flatness, in a cold
and timorous notion of
simplicity. Methinks I
see these different
followers of Homer, some
sweating and straining
after him by violent
leaps and bounds (the
certain
signs of false mettle),
others slowly and
servilely creeping in
his train,
while the poet himself
is all the time
proceeding with an
unaffected and
equal majesty before
them. However, of the
two extremes one could
sooner
pardon frenzy than
frigidity; no author is
to be envied for such
commendations, as he may
gain by that character
of style, which his
friends must agree
together to call
simplicity, and the rest
of the world
will call dulness. There
is a graceful and
dignified simplicity, as
well
as a bold and sordid
one; which differ as
much from each other as
the air
of a plain man from that
of a sloven: it is one
thing to be tricked up,
and another not to be
dressed at all.
Simplicity is the mean
between
ostentation and
rusticity.
This pure and noble
simplicity is nowhere in
such perfection as in
the
Scripture and our
author. One may affirm,
with all respect to the
inspired
writings, that the
Divine Spirit made use
of no other words but
what were
intelligible and common
to men at that time, and
in that part of the
world; and, as Homer is
the author nearest to
those, his style must of
course bear a greater
resemblance to the
sacred books than that
of any
other writer. This
consideration (together
with what has been
observed of
the parity of some of
his thoughts) may,
methinks, induce a
translator, on
the one hand, to give in
to several of those
general phrases and
manners
of expression, which
have attained a
veneration even in our
language from
being used in the Old
Testament; as, on the
other, to avoid those
which
have been appropriated
to the Divinity, and in
a manner consigned to
mystery and religion.
For a further
preservation of this air
of simplicity, a
particular care
should be taken to
express with all
plainness those moral
sentences and
proverbial speeches
which are so numerous in
this poet. They have
something venerable, and
as I may say, oracular,
in that unadorned
gravity
and shortness with which
they are delivered: a
grace which would be
utterly lost by
endeavouring to give
them what we call a more
ingenious
(that is, a more modern)
turn in the paraphrase.
Perhaps the mixture of
some Graecisms and old
words after the manner
of
Milton, if done without
too much affectation,
might not have an ill
effect
in a version of this
particular work, which
most of any other seems
to
require a venerable,
antique cast. But
certainly the use of
modern terms
of war and government,
such as "platoon,
campaign, junto," or the
like,
(into which some of his
translators have fallen)
cannot be allowable;
those only excepted
without which it is
impossible to treat the
subjects
in any living language.
There are two
peculiarities in Homer's
diction, which are a
sort of marks
or moles by which every
common eye distinguishes
him at first sight;
those
who are not his greatest
admirers look upon them
as defects, and those
who
are, seemed pleased with
them as beauties. I
speak of his compound
epithets, and of his
repetitions. Many of the
former cannot be done
literally into English
without destroying the
purity of our language.
I
believe such should be
retained as slide easily
of themselves into an
English compound,
without violence to the
ear or to the received
rules of
composition, as well as
those which have
received a sanction from
the
authority of our best
poets, and are become
familiar through their
use of
them; such as "the
cloud-compelling Jove,"
&c. As for the rest,
whenever
any can be as fully and
significantly expressed
in a single word as in a
compounded one, the
course to be taken is
obvious.
Some that cannot be so
turned, as to preserve
their full image by one
or
two words, may have
justice done them by
circumlocution; as the
epithet
einosiphyllos to a
mountain, would appear
little or ridiculous
translated
literally
"leaf-shaking," but
affords a majestic idea
in the periphrasis:
"the lofty mountain
shakes his waving
woods." Others that
admit of
different
significations, may
receive an advantage
from a judicious
variation, according to
the occasions on which
they are introduced. For
example, the epithet of
Apollo, hekaebolos or
"far-shooting," is
capable
of two explications; one
literal, in respect of
the darts and bow, the
ensigns of that god; the
other allegorical, with
regard to the rays of
the
sun; therefore, in such
places where Apollo is
represented as a god in
person, I would use the
former interpretation;
and where the effects of
the sun are described, I
would make choice of the
latter. Upon the whole,
it will be necessary to
avoid that perpetual
repetition of the same
epithets which we find
in Homer, and which,
though it might be
accommodated (as has
been already shown) to
the ear of those times,
is by
no means so to ours: but
one may wait for
opportunities of placing
them,
where they derive an
additional beauty from
the occasions on which
they
are employed; and in
doing this properly, a
translator may at once
show
his fancy and his
judgment.
As for Homer's
repetitions, we may
divide them into three
sorts: of whole
narrations and speeches,
of single sentences, and
of one verse or
hemistitch. I hope it is
not impossible to have
such a regard to these,
as
neither to lose so known
a mark of the author on
the one hand, nor to
offend the reader too
much on the other. The
repetition is not
ungraceful
in those speeches, where
the dignity of the
speaker renders it a
sort of
insolence to alter his
words; as in the
messages from gods to
men, or from
higher powers to
inferiors in concerns of
state, or where the
ceremonial
of religion seems to
require it, in the
solemn forms of prayers,
oaths, or
the like. In other
cases, I believe the
best rule is, to be
guided by the
nearness, or distance,
at which the repetitions
are placed in the
original: when they
follow too close, one
may vary the expression;
but it
is a question, whether a
professed translator be
authorized to omit any:
if they be tedious, the
author is to answer for
it.
It only remains to speak
of the versification.
Homer (as has been said)
is
perpetually applying the
sound to the sense, and
varying it on every new
subject. This is indeed
one of the most
exquisite beauties of
poetry, and
attainable by very few:
I only know of Homer
eminent for it in the
Greek,
and Virgil in the Latin.
I am sensible it is what
may sometimes happen by
chance, when a writer is
warm, and fully
possessed of his image:
however,
it may reasonably be
believed they designed
this, in whose verse it
so
manifestly appears in a
superior degree to all
others. Few readers have
the ear to be judges of
it: but those who have,
will see I have
endeavoured at this
beauty.
Upon the whole, I must
confess myself utterly
incapable of doing
justice
to Homer. I attempt him
in no other hope but
that which one may
entertain
without much vanity, of
giving a more tolerable
copy of him than any
entire translation in
verse has yet done. We
have only those of
Chapman,
Hobbes, and Ogilby.
Chapman has taken the
advantage of an
immeasurable
length of verse,
notwithstanding which,
there is scarce any
paraphrase
more loose and rambling
than his. He has
frequent interpolations
of four
or six lines; and I
remember one in the
thirteenth book of the
Odyssey,
ver. 312, where he has
spun twenty verses out
of two. He is often
mistaken
in so bold a manner,
that one might think he
deviated on purpose, if
he
did not in other places
of his notes insist so
much upon verbal
trifles.
He appears to have had a
strong affectation of
extracting new meanings
out
of his author; insomuch
as to promise, in his
rhyming preface, a poem
of
the mysteries he had
revealed in Homer; and
perhaps he endeavoured
to
strain the obvious sense
to this end. His
expression is involved
in
fustian; a fault for
which he was remarkable
in his original
writings, as
in the tragedy of Bussy
d'Amboise, &c. In a
word, the nature of the
man
may account for his
whole performance; for
he appears, from his
preface
and remarks, to have
been of an arrogant
turn, and an enthusiast
in
poetry. His own boast,
of having finished half
the Iliad in less than
fifteen weeks, shows
with what negligence his
version was performed.
But
that which is to be
allowed him, and which
very much contributed to
cover
his defects, is a daring
fiery spirit that
animates his
translation, which
is something like what
one might imagine Homer
himself would have writ
before he arrived at
years of discretion.
Hobbes has given us a
correct explanation of
the sense in general;
but for
particulars and
circumstances he
continually lops them,
and often omits
the most beautiful. As
for its being esteemed a
close translation, I
doubt
not many have been led
into that error by the
shortness of it, which
proceeds not from his
following the original
line by line, but from
the
contractions above
mentioned. He sometimes
omits whole similes and
sentences; and is now
and then guilty of
mistakes, into which no
writer of
his learning could have
fallen, but through
carelessness. His
poetry, as
well as Ogilby's, is too
mean for criticism.
It is a great loss to
the poetical world that
Mr. Dryden did not live
to
translate the Iliad. He
has left us only the
first book, and a small
part
of the sixth; in which
if he has in some places
not truly interpreted
the
sense, or preserved the
antiquities, it ought to
be excused on account of
the haste he was obliged
to write in. He seems to
have had too much regard
to Chapman, whose words
he sometimes copies, and
has unhappily followed
him in passages where he
wanders from the
original. However, had
he
translated the whole
work, I would no more
have attempted Homer
after him
than Virgil: his version
of whom (notwithstanding
some human errors) is
the most noble and
spirited translation I
know in any language.
But the
fate of great geniuses
is like that of great
ministers: though they
are
confessedly the first in
the commonwealth of
letters, they must be
envied
and calumniated only for
being at the head of it.
That which, in my
opinion, ought to be the
endeavour of any one who
translates Homer, is
above all things to keep
alive that spirit and
fire
which makes his chief
character: in particular
places, where the sense
can
bear any doubt, to
follow the strongest and
most poetical, as most
agreeing with that
character; to copy him
in all the variations of
his
style, and the different
modulations of his
numbers; to preserve, in
the
more active or
descriptive parts, a
warmth and elevation; in
the more
sedate or narrative, a
plainness and solemnity;
in the speeches, a
fulness
and perspicuity; in the
sentences, a shortness
and gravity; not to
neglect
even the little figures
and turns on the words,
nor sometimes the very
cast of the periods;
neither to omit nor
confound any rites or
customs of
antiquity: perhaps too
he ought to include the
whole in a shorter
compass
than has hitherto been
done by any translator
who has tolerably
preserved
either the sense or
poetry. What I would
further recommend to him
is, to
study his author rather
from his own text, than
from any commentaries,
how
learned soever, or
whatever figure they may
make in the estimation
of the
world; to consider him
attentively in
comparison with Virgil
above all the
ancients, and with
Milton above all the
moderns. Next these, the
Archbishop of Cambray's
Telemachus may give him
the truest idea of the
spirit and turn of our
author; and Bossu's
admirable Treatise of
the Epic
Poem the justest notion
of his design and
conduct. But after all,
with
whatever judgment and
study a man may proceed,
or with whatever
happiness
he may perform such a
work, he must hope to
please but a few; those
only
who have at once a taste
of poetry, and competent
learning. For to satisfy
such a want either, is
not in the nature of
this undertaking; since
a mere
modern wit can like
nothing that is not
modern, and a pedant
nothing that
is not Greek.
What I have done is
submitted to the public;
from whose opinions I am
prepared to learn;
though I fear no judges
so little as our best
poets,
who are most sensible of
the weight of this task.
As for the worst,
whatever they shall
please to say, they may
give me some concern as
they
are unhappy men, but
none as they are
malignant writers. I was
guided in
this translation by
judgments very different
from theirs, and by
persons
for whom they can have
no kindness, if an old
observation be true,
that
the strongest antipathy
in the world is that of
fools to men of wit. Mr.
Addison was the first
whose advice determined
me to undertake this
task;
who was pleased to write
to me upon that occasion
in such terms as I
cannot repeat without
vanity. I was obliged to
Sir Richard Steele for a
very early
recommendation of my
undertaking to the
public. Dr. Swift
promoted my interest
with that warmth with
which he always serves
his
friend. The humanity and
frankness of Sir Samuel
Garth are what I never
knew wanting on any
occasion. I must also
acknowledge, with
infinite
pleasure, the many
friendly offices, as
well as sincere
criticisms, of Mr.
Congreve, who had led me
the way in translating
some parts of Homer. I
must add the names of
Mr. Rowe, and Dr.
Parnell, though I shall
take a
further opportunity of
doing justice to the
last, whose good nature
(to
give it a great
panegyric), is no less
extensive than his
learning. The
favour of these
gentlemen is not
entirely undeserved by
one who bears them
so true an affection.
But what can I say of
the honour so many of
the
great have done me;
while the first names of
the age appear as my
subscribers, and the
most distinguished
patrons and ornaments of
learning
as my chief encouragers?
Among these it is a
particular pleasure to
me to
find, that my highest
obligations are to such
who have done most
honour to
the name of poet: that
his grace the Duke of
Buckingham was not
displeased
I should undertake the
author to whom he has
given (in his excellent
Essay), so complete a
praise:
"Read Homer once, and
you can read no more;
For all books else
appear so mean, so poor,
Verse will seem prose:
but still persist to
read,
And Homer will be all
the books you need."
That the Earl of Halifax
was one of the first to
favour me; of whom it is
hard to say whether the
advancement of the
polite arts is more
owing to
his generosity or his
example: that such a
genius as my Lord
Bolingbroke,
not more distinguished
in the great scenes of
business, than in all
the
useful and entertaining
parts of learning, has
not refused to be the
critic of these sheets,
and the patron of their
writer: and that the
noble
author of the tragedy of
"Heroic Love" has
continued his partiality
to me,
from my writing
pastorals to my
attempting the Iliad. I
cannot deny myself
the pride of confessing,
that I have had the
advantage not only of
their
advice for the conduct
in general, but their
correction of several
particulars of this
translation.
I could say a great deal
of the pleasure of being
distinguished by the
Earl of Carnarvon; but
it is almost absurd to
particularize any one
generous action in a
person whose whole life
is a continued series of
them. Mr. Stanhope, the
present secretary of
state, will pardon my
desire
of having it known that
he was pleased to
promote this affair. The
particular zeal of Mr.
Harcourt (the son of the
late Lord Chancellor)
gave
me a proof how much I am
honoured in a share of
his friendship. I must
attribute to the same
motive that of several
others of my friends: to
whom
all acknowledgments are
rendered unnecessary by
the privileges of a
familiar correspondence;
and I am satisfied I can
no way better oblige men
of their turn than by my
silence.
In short, I have found
more patrons than ever
Homer wanted. He would
have
thought himself happy to
have met the same favour
at Athens that has been
shown me by its learned
rival, the University of
Oxford. And I can hardly
envy him those pompous
honours he received
after death, when I
reflect on
the enjoyment of so many
agreeable obligations,
and easy friendships,
which make the
satisfaction of life.
This distinction is the
more to be
acknowledged, as it is
shown to one whose pen
has never gratified the
prejudices of particular
parties, or the vanities
of particular men.
Whatever
the success may prove, I
shall never repent of an
undertaking in
which I have experienced
the candour and
friendship of so many
persons of
merit; and in which I
hope to pass some of
those years of youth
that are
generally lost in a
circle of follies, after
a manner neither wholly
unuseful to others, nor
disagreeable to myself. |
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